Menswear
by AGirlsGottaEat
Summary: He was the Best Man; it was his duty to serve The Groom or to be killed by him. — • • Eddie Gluskin/Dennis
1. Chapter One

_**Synopsis: **__He was the Best Man; it was his duty to serve The Groom or to be killed by him._

* * *

**Menswear**

**Chapter One**

**X**

"_Above the knees,_

_Below the navel,_

_Sliced and sewn on Gluskin's table._

_To make a place to push inside,_

_The Groom will make himself a bride."_

* * *

The building stood on the far side of the asylum, so isolated and forgotten, it was the perfect place to hide and go unnoticed. Fog had devoured the landscape, the remote mountains had been covered with a thick sheet of ghostly velvet, and gradually it began to float down to the asylum and shelter the courtyard, hiding whomever was lurking there. Nowhere was safe anymore, blood poured down the corridors like a river, numerous screams echoed from afar accompanied by a aggravated shout, and the ghostlike apparition that only a few patients had witnessed had begun to tear apart anything that it came across. The man wasn't the sort to believe in a ghost, he _may_ have had a mental illness, but he was aware of that fact, and wasn't going to let some God preacher tell him he worship—what he called—The Walrider. The old balding priest had claimed that it was his duty to spread the word of God, and in hindsight, Dennis wasn't entirely sure he was an actual Priest. His clothing for one looked to be fashioned from a black straightjacket, and the cross on his chest seemed to be spare fabric that he had made into the shape of a cross and sew it onto his chest. God, thinking back, Dennis remembered the uncomfortable snugness of the straightjacket, knowing that whenever he started twitching the slightest he would be thrown into one. Many doctors took liberties and abused their position, they wouldn't do their job to the highest standard and sometimes would just drug the patient up and lock them away.

"Flesh and bone, my son," The bald man had said with a sincere and gentle speech, "Once we are released from our prison, then we shall escape to salvation."

But, he didn't believe the man, ignoring him and feeling grateful that he wasn't a harmful patient. He still found it hard to believe that madmen ran the entire building, and some didn't even resemble men anymore. He had seen one, a deformed face, skin that had looked to be melted away from the bone, his nose eroded into his skull and he slurred and spat whenever he tired to talk to Dennis, urgently trying to get his attention, but Dennis simply moved on leaving the man in misery. It wasn't his problem. He knew he wasn't like _these_ type of men, he knew the difference between reality and fantasy, in fact most of the time he tended to exaggerate his own metal illness for attention. Multiply Personality Disorder, and Doctor Wolfram, a doctor he was sent to after numerous unsuccessful interviews with various other therapists, had seen right through his façade. And he had even told Dennis that he found it unlikely he had MPD at all, which, he was correct. He didn't, he tended to make it up as he went along, all for the love of attention. Though, he did show signs of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a consuming behaviour that made Dennis rant on about the prevention of a flood, and him doing unnecessary actions in case it came true, which, it wouldn't. That had become the only reason for him to stay in the mental house, whilst he enjoyed the constant attention from performing his four characters, he didn't feel the same about the shock therapy. The bolt of electric running down his spine, sending his dizzy, making him throw up down his chest, leaving him with a constant twitch, which _was_ what had driven him mad.

He found himself staring at the building again, the Vocational Block, a place where patients would go and be helped on finding their feet in a working society again. Inside were sewing machines, a gymnasium, a kitchen, and a music room, different actives that would distract the patients from creating havoc and focus on calming them. They were encouraged to find peace and something they were good at doing, considering that most of them had been in this asylum for a very long time. The man frowned, hearing something from the inside, a shout that soon died down into nothing and was overpowered by the whoosh of the autumn wind. He needed a way to get inside, away from the other patients that roamed and would kill him with a single look.

Most of them had been exposed to the Morphogenic Engine, a machine that Dennis hadn't had the pleasure of being hooked up to, but he knew that was why most men he saw were deformed and hardly resembled their former self. It had physically and mentally changed them, and not for the better, giving them the name Variants, a mass group of men who had been exposed to such experiments. The effect was different on various people Dennis had seen; some remained skinny, weak and scared, and others gain more strength and would easily snap him in half.

"Look."

The man turned around quickly, his arm over his face as he expected a full-blown punch across his face to send him to the ground, but was surprised when nothing came. His heart began to race as he tried desperately to see through the milky fog, trying his best to find the source of the deep, yet calm and composed voice that had just spoken. He wasn't being addressed, so Dennis remained silent, gathering himself so he could handle the situation that he was in. If he was going to be attacked, he expected it to be done by now, the men he shared a room with wouldn't hesitate to hit him. A bulky figure then emerged from the mist, followed by a second that followed closely behind, both matching in face and posture. No, there was some difference, one was taller, and the other had a mop of black hair.

_Twins?_

The closer they got, the more he backed away, ready to run in the opposite direction. They both halted, staring at him with a grim expression, glancing at each other. He then realized that neither of the men were wearing clothing, both exposed to the coldness, yet both of them acted unaffected and natural. It was strange; as the brothers acted so placid and in control that a flashing alarm began to go off in Dennis' head. Were they going to kill him or just observe him? He stood in silence, gazing at them with a blank expression, trying to size each one up. He wouldn't be able to take them, he was outnumbered, nor would he be able to put up much of a fight against even one of them.

"He may be lost."

"Maybe."

"Skinny. Not much."

"Unsatisfying."

"He must think we're discourteous."

"If offered, I will oblige."

"How gracious of you."

…_Huh? _The man stared, mouth open, yet not wanting to say anything. They were both talking to each other without a regard to his presence, their talk like playing a game of tennis, back and forth, before finally ending their match and moving on into the fog. He wasn't the strongest man in the world, but he wasn't pathetically weak either, he could put up a good fight if he had to, he would just rather stay on the sideline. This was one of those moments where he took the biggest sigh of relief, and continued on his way, going in the opposite direction of the two other men.

**X**

Finally, after trying to find a way inside the building, Dennis has settled with squeezing himself through an air vent and brought him to a room. Dropping to the floor with a light bump he found himself staring off into the maze of shelves that blocked his way from getting any deeper within the building, instead, he would have to dodge around them and find a clear pathway. It was quiet. An uncomfortable silence that made Dennis hold his breath, straining to listen for anybody else who may have thought of the idea of hiding inside the block, or anyone prowling in the shadow to jump out on him. In fact, Dennis may have been lean, but he was tactful, and overpowering perhaps a weaker man would have been easy. It was all in the name of survival, and if he didn't fend for himself, he would be stone cold dead.

A small drip of water fell from the ceiling, landing on Dennis' high cheekbone, and then slid downward to his chin to where it dripped and fell to the floor. With this, Dennis gasped, the cool feel of water touching him wasn't received well, causing him to panic and stutter as his anxiety built up and exploded out of his mouth. He began to walk faster, imagining that the water was rising; the room progressively becoming filled with dirty water and soon would be reduced to nothing but a collapsed mess of wood and metal. The water felt cold against his skin, freezing in fact, so much so he felt like it was dragging him down if he didn't do something fast. He opened his mouth; a shrill, cranky voice that resembled an old man came gushing out in a pitted rage, "This Goddamn leak! Whadda tell you young'uns? It's pissing out the wall! It's Goddamn everywhere! Ya want your Gran'daddy to freeze up and keel over?"

"W-w-w-we need something t-t-to block it up! Th-that'll d-do the trick!" His second voice turned lighter, more innocent like a child; trying to do the best he can to please the make-believe Grandfather. He had a speech impediment that caused him to stammer and take time trying to pronounce certain words. He would spit slightly when he spoke, trying to force the word out of his mouth. "B-b-b-block everything u-up! Don't let the water g-get inside. K-k-k-keep it outside."

"Shaddup an' lemme think, ya backward useless piece of shit." The snarling voice returned, bad-tempered and insulting toward the other personality. Dennis, still in a blind panic, ran past a full shelf, knocking his shoulder into the sharp edge causing him to stumble and bang his foot against the floor loudly. "I said quiet! Ya fuckin' deaf boy? You got ears the size of an Asses yet ya can't listen to a single thang I say to ya? Shut the fuck up and grow some balls while yer at it."

"Don't worry Pop, we can fix it. We're just worried, that's all." Another voice emerged from Dennis' mouth, the youngest brother, positive-minded and calmer unlike the other. "We need somethin' heavy, somethin' that won't budge. We need to block the water from, er, gettin' inside. It's comin' from the sewer, drowning us like rats."

"Quiet down, Timmy. Boy ya yabbin' ain't gettn' us anywhere." The Father replied sternly. The man got to a dead end, yet he could still feel the water at his ankle, his imaginary running wild as he tried to find another way out of the enclosed area. He gritted his teeth, "Keep 'em eyes peeled. See if ya can see anywhere ta go."

"I said, just shut yer Goddamn cock-sucker mouth! Yer no son of mine. Disgrace!"

"Shh. I hear somethin'. Somethin' is close by." Timmy hushed. The man paused, hearing a faint noise from far away, though he was certain it was coming from the building he was in. He knew that eventually he was going to come across someone, but right now, he needed to be more stealthy and considerate of how much noise he was making. "I hear somethin'. So close. I don't wanna get any unwanted attention. Maybe, we should go back, find somethin' to block that hole, stop the water from gettin' in."

"We'll be fine, quit ya whimperin' ya soppy mess."

"Idiot. Fool." The Grandfather hissed, "I hear somethin' too. I know someone is close. I ain't imagin' it."

**X**

The sound of music was in the distant background, not close enough to hear what the singer was singing about, but close enough to hear the melody, meaning that someone was close by. He knew that the sewing room was nearby as Dennis had spent many satisfied hours making a variety of clothing that took his mind off the fact he was stuck in a plain white room almost twenty-four hours a day. If he remembered correctly, he would have to go downstairs, to the second floor, and there he would find row by row of sewing machines, all rusted silver and waiting to begin work again. After wandering around for another half an hour, he found the staircase that lead to the low floor, calling out to him, shouting that it could be a safe haven away from the ongoing madness that had started outside. Looking down it he noticed the darkness, it was somewhat even more uninviting than the black he had been strolling around in, it had an aura about it that Dennis couldn't quite understand. "Somethin' ain't right." The Grandfather mumbled, raising an eyebrow at the situation. "It's too quiet. Where the heck is everyone?"

He took one step onto the creaking wooden staircase, listening to the wood make a noise under his weight, hoping that it wouldn't attract any attention. He put his other foot forward, and the other, then the other, until finally after creeping down the staircase he reached the bottom with relief. The music was louder, coming from the right of him, yet Dennis hesitated from going in the direction of where he could be ambushed and possibly killed. He thought, weighing up what he could or could not do, coming to the decision that he could kill whoever was down here _first_. He was sneaky, so he knew he could do it, come up behind them and strangle them, or hit them across the head with something blunt. He walked past the a table that held a broken sewing machine, noticing that on the far side of the room was a mannequin, he frowned, seeing how it was wearing a dress. It was odd, as he knew that the asylum didn't accompany any female patients, but didn't think much of it and carried on walking toward the sound.

A ting of metal, and Dennis was once again frozen to the spot. Ahead, he saw what seemed to be an operating curtain strung up, hosting a large, moving shadow of a figure. Was he…_singing? _A soft hearty voice came to his ear, singing like he was in a theater and was trying desperately trying to please his audience.

_When I was a boy my mother often said to me, get married boy and see how happy you will be ~_

_I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find, who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind~_

Slowly, Dennis peeked his head around the corner, seeing the man who he might have to sneak up on. The powerful smell of iron made him fight back the choking that had irrupted inside his throat, he covered his mouth, urgently trying to stop himself from making the slightest noise. His eyes began to water and sting, it was the sort of overpowering stench that one could feel in the their skin, and Dennis knew it all too well. Scattered across the entire asylum were bodies that had been mutilated beyond recognition, some had been repeatedly stabbed, eaten, assaulted and even burned to nothing but black ash. But _this_, his mouth dropped open like a broken trap door as he witnessed the exceptionally tall man gut out a headless corpse, the blood pouring out from the hallow stomach onto a plastic cover that had put on the floor. The man didn't seem to notice Dennis, instead continued with the job at hand, scrapping out the dead body and singing merrily along with the old song that still played.

_I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad ~ _

_She was a pearl and the only girl that Daddy ever had~_

Looking at him, Dennis knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against the towering, muscular man, knowing that his only chance of staying alive was lying low. He inspected him from afar, seeing how the patient had a see-through tube going into his nose, and another going into the purple vein in his wrist that was filled with his dark blood. Half of his face was covered in an inflamed rash that was scattered down the left side of his face, lumpy and sore, like he had been continuously scratching it till his skin had begun to come off with the constant itching. The white around his iris had turned the colour crimson, like the blood vessel within them had burst and stained them, leaving his bright indigo eyes unharmed but noticeable against the dark colouring. The strip of black hair in the center of his head was swept back, whilst both sides of his head were shaven down, though had started to grow back ever so slightly due to the lack of upkeep. He looked familiar; Dennis knew he had seen him before, despite his transformation he still felt like he _knew_ him from somewhere.

_What the fuck is he wearing…? _

He had fashioned himself a blue waistcoat from what looked like a navy infirmary gown, along with a small blue bowtie that was fastened around his neck. The shirt that was underneath had turned a filthy grey, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black straps around both of his bulky biceps. The outfit resembled one of a Groom, a man about to be married, yet Dennis couldn't be sure why the man would make something like that. His trousers were handmade for his towering figure, plain black, scuffed slightly at the knees and accompanied by shiny, black shoes that probably had once belonged to a doctor. Enough of the sight and smell, Dennis backed away, though he was still distracted of what the man was _actually _doing, unable to take his gaze away. He made it back around the corner, ready to retreat to the higher floor again, when he stood on the curtain and tripped, holding onto it in a reflex as he felt himself fall to the floor along with the white sheet. He heard the clash of metal against the ground and his own body crunch, the pole that held up the curtain landing on his back and winding him. His spine ached from the sudden impact, yet the pain was unimportant to him, he had made his presence quite clear. Then man looked up in horror, now seeing the curtain had completely been torn down revealing the dark-haired man, who was now staring down at him with genuine surprise. _Oh fuck. _The suited man stopped what he was doing, leaving the corpse to sag to the side as he let go of it, cleaning his small knife in the palm of his gloved hand as he made his way closer to Dennis.

"_You_." The man expression darkened, his thick brows dropping, his jaw loosening as his mouth curved into an unnatural smile that showed off his pearly teeth. He looked down at the man like he was a feast, eyes blazing with something, _affection_, but something also dangerous that left Dennis speechless and frightened. "So, so beautiful, yet _incomplete_."

**X**

_**A/N: **__I did it. I wrote another Outlast story about Gluskin, featuring Dennis who I have found a new love for. _

_Once again, I really appreciate some feedback on this chapter. Thank you for reading~_


	2. Chapter Two

**Menswear**

**Chapter Two**

**X**

* * *

_Beautiful?_

The terrified man couldn't move, his body refused to find the strength to get up and run, instead he was on the floor like a heavy stone. His back cracked and throbbed with a bruising pain that made him bite the inside of his cheek for some relief, but none came, instead his spine sent a sharp shock to his head and Dennis found the man in front of him becoming less visible. Automatically he began to crawl away from the dark figure, smelling the overwhelming odor of blood on him that only meant one thing to Dennis, he was going to _die_ if he didn't move. Everything became dark and intense, the approaching danger making the man clumsy as he attempted to stand on his own two feet, only to wobble and fall a short distance back onto the grimy floor. He caught a peek of the man from the corner of his eye, seeing that he was intentionally _playing_ with him, an everlasting smug grin on his strong jawline as he watched his victim squirm. His voice was soft and gentle, a fluent and articulate accent that collided with his bloody attire, "Yes, you will _compete _me, and I will make you whole again. You won't have to be alone. Don't be shy, come to me, darling. Come here. Let me hold you." The man took a long step forward toward the shuddering man, his stance domineering, confident that the weaker patient wouldn't _dare_ make a run for it. "_Oh, _you're almost perfect. Just let me make you better. Let me love you. All of you. Every. Last. _Bit._"

"W-What?" Dennis scrabbled away from him, unable to pick himself up from the floor. He was mentally screaming at himself to move, to run, to _fight_, but his body refused to move even an inch. The look in the mans eyes, it was something he had seen many times within those patients who had the uncontrollable desire to cause harm to others, whether they could control the urge or not, Dennis didn't care, all he knew that there was little chance he had against him unless he moved _now_. "Get away! Get away from me! Don't _touch_ me!"

The brunette had managed to get to his feet, stumbling into a run as he dodged around a table, a piercing sharp pain coming from the midpoint of his ribcage. The dark wasn't on his side, but nor was it on the fast approaching man's who had started chasing after Dennis with an enthusiasm that had burst out of nowhere. He could take advantage of the darkness, if he planned it just right, he could easily get this bastard off his tail. He could still smell the rotting flesh of his previous victim, the mere remembrance of what he had seen haunted him and made him more determined not be caught by this man. The Murkoff Corporation had no one to blame but themselves for this sort of uproar from the patients, rehabilitating them and giving them the treatment they needed for their mental health was a load of rubbish, instead they had used them like caged lab rats and worsened their mental state even more. It was like pulling the tail of a mad dog, you can't expect it not to react, it _will _bite you back.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage rapidly, his body becoming cold and clammy, but he continued to run like he was stepping on hot coal. From behind he heard the man call out to him, not angrily, but charmingly, his voice was warm with love that made Dennis's skin prickle with dread. What was _with_ him? The brunette jumped over a wooden table that had been knocked onto the floor, the sewing machine and various counterparts had slipped off onto the hardly visible floor. Now he felt the pain in his back return, a gradually burning sensation that flared up into the back of his skull, before dying back down into the lower half of his back. He crashed into a door, latching onto the handle, then slamming it shut behind him, pushing away from it before forcing himself to sprint into the blackness again. His long legs jumped over numerous fallen pieces of rusted metal and wood, broken glass and tattered fabric that was stained with deep crimson. He wanted to vomit as he passed a handmade mannequin, bent and wrapped metal made to imitate a posing female figure; only a disfigured and bleeding head had been put on the spike at the top. He _needed_ to hide. He ducked under a nearby table, managing to get himself into a crouched position that stressed his aching backbone. He waited, hearing the man getting closer, his grunting revealing that now he was getting frustrated with the chase. Holding his breath Dennis listened to the pulsating thumping inside his head, the way his hand would twitch from the slightest noise coming from the darkness, daring not to blink in case he would be caught in a second of blindness.

_He's that Gluskin guy, ain't he? A know about 'im. I knew his face looked familiar. _

_D-d-don't let h-h-h-him near us! He'll ch-ch-ch-chop us up!_

_Quit yer yappin'! Stop actin' like a pansy, boy! Don't give him the satisfaction!_

He didn't know much about Gluskin, but enough to know that he was indeed dangerous. It at least took three men to take him out of his cell each morning and then again to put him back in. His only ever interaction with the man was when Dennis had been in the court yard, and Gluskin, on the other side of the fence, had been staring at him and cooing him over with pleasantries. He took no notice, ignoring him, deciding it was the best way to endure his time in the asylum by not getting any unwanted attention, especially from _him_. The amount of stories he had heard about the man, though he had a charming charisma and gentle attitude most of the time, he wasn't someone a man would want to get near to, that was why they quarantined him away from the others. The large, brawny man appeared, his outline against the dark just visible enough for Dennis to him. He watched him silently, cutting off the painful whimpers with his hand as he placed it tightly over his mouth, restricting his heavy breathing at the same time. He watched as Gluskin strolled by, calm and controlled, seeming to be enjoying the game of hide and seek with Dennis, though his patience seemed to be wearing very thin. He was on the borderline of becoming frustrated and angry, and Dennis could hear it in his voice, the charm was wearing off and becoming consumed by a vicious growl. "Darling, _come_ to me. Don't be shy. I just want to admire you. Come out. I want to hold you close to me. I can…_smell _you, your _sweet, sweet _aroma. Darling, you can't hide forever, you'll get lost down here. Just come out, and let us talk."

As his voice got further and further away, Dennis gained the confidence to emerge from his hiding spot, scanning his surrounding with squinted brown eyes. He again glanced at the mannequin, blood oozing from the cracked head that had a spike piecing through it, but that couldn't be compared to the rest of the residence that inhabited the asylum. Up till now, Dennis had survived everything that had been thrown at him, but he was sure that his luck would run out anytime soon. Everything was surreal and blurry, his mind was only filled with the thought of that he could smell sweat and blood. What he needed to do was get out of the asylum; he _couldn't_ continue to hide anymore. He walked away from where the deranged man had gone, searching for the staircase that would take him back up to the higher floor.

**X**

The small room Dennis had entered had a large mirror that covered the entire back wall; it was the most striking and prominent feature. The brunette walked unhurriedly closer, inspecting his own exhausted reflection. Yes, the room was grimy and decomposing, but overall hadn't been completely inflicted by the hellish nightmare of the world that was outside the door waiting for his return. Though, Dennis found it odd and unconvincing that this single room wasn't unlike all the rest. Calmly he paced around the small area, looking over the crumbling walls and dirty floor, taking in every detail and element until he was satisfied that there was nothing for him here. It was just a regular room, a safe haven away from the sewing room, somewhere he could breathe and think for at least a moment. But there was nothing to think about. All he needed to do was find a way out. His breath became slow and controlled again as Dennis wandered over the discolored tiles, the light bulb above him flickering, his bare feet unpleasantly squelching underneath the minor gore. It was silent and calm, and for that, he was thankful.

Stepping back to the center of the floor so he could see the majority of the room, Dennis caught a glimpse of himself through his ruffled, red-stained hair. Oh, how he hated mirrors. His gloomy replication stared back at him bleakly; making Dennis feel a sudden pressure pushing into his physique and making his head swoon. Closing his eyes his inhaled the stale and unpleasant smell of the dusky room. Something in the air made his nose wrinkle, an unpleasant smell of sweat, piss and the musky smell of blood invading his nostrils. He cleared his throat, his dark brown eyes rimmed with hot tears and lightly freckled cheeks flushed with heat. He didn't want to go back to the main section of the asylum, Dennis found himself to be the half-awake wanderer, and the repulsions of the asylum soon turned her into a numb and emotionless shell of a man.

"_There_ you are my little minx," A balled fist hit the back of the man's head, the powerful impact sending Dennis to the floor. His head felt light with the sudden sway of agony that had taken over his ability to think, everything had become blurry and a white light appeared whenever he closed his eyelids. He could taste his own blood on his trembling bottom lip, it stained his teeth an exhausted red and caused him to choke out the mucus that became trapped within his throat. A loud, piercing whistle filled his bruised skull, making time slow down as he felt his whole body being pushed to one side so he was facing up at his attacker.

_Gluskin._

His eyes widened to the sight of Gluskin smiling merrily down at him, pleased with himself that he had won the chase and finally had his love at his feet. Looking closer at Gluskin, Dennis saw that the left side of his mouth had become misshapen, giving him a slight lisp whenever he spoke, a trait that made his pronouncing of certain words less proficient. He sighed, "Now, now, don't move. I wouldn't want to _ruin_ you. You're far too delicate. Yes, you're going to be so beautiful." The last thing Dennis saw before becoming unconscious was Gluskin pulling back his fist, grinning down at him with a hidden intention, and then punching him into oblivion.

**X**

He groaned.

His right eye opened, the pupil enlarging as he tired to see through the dark, noticing the outline of a shaking figure leaned against the wall in the fetal position to his right. An intense pressure had formed at the back of his skull, making it feel heavy as he tried to raise it from the cold ground, but instantly abandoned the idea and allowed it to rest again. His mouth tasted of stale bile and blood, making Dennis grimace and crunch his face in disgust from the overbearing flavor. He attempted to lift himself from the filthy floor, yet he couldn't, instead a burning pain came from around his bare torso as he pulled against the rope that was secured around him, making him gradually realize he couldn't even more an inch. His mind was a blur, and again he was on the verge of passing out, a desperate want of being asleep than conscious and allowing the nervousness build up inside him. Another moment passed swiftly, a strong breeze coming through the bottom of the door and sending an icy shiver throughout Dennis's body. He looked over to the man who was crying to himself on the other side of the room, his face downcast and hidden behind his thick-bronzed hair.

"Bad man, bad, bad man," The patient mumbled to himself. The brunette stayed silent, speechless and dazed, watching as the man began to claw at his own flesh, digging his nails deep into his skin. The room was relatively empty and hollow, filled with shadows and coldness; the harsh reality hit Dennis in the face and began to suffocate him. _Gluskin. _"Bad man. Bad man. Bad, bad, very bad man. Bad."

"Where _are_ we?" Dennis whispered over to the man, his voice hoarse and barely audible, fear leaving his mouth in an urgent rush. The other man didn't reply, nor did he acknowledge his existence, he simply continued to rock himself gently and shake his head like he was in some form of denial. He began to weep; pure fear had embodied itself into the man's being and made him into a quivering wreck that hid away in the consuming shadow of the table. "Hey, fucking pay attention, where are we? What is _he_ going to do? Are you listening? Can you, c'mere? Can you untie me? Oh God, oh, God, _fuck. _Where am I?" His eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and he gazed silently around the room, a gust of distress falling down into the pit of his stomach as he noticed the blood on the floor and another unmoving body resting against the wall. _Dead. _The body was naked, cut, torn, ripped, a disturbing sight to see, and Dennis saw nothing but his future in that single corpse. It was a male; he could tell from the shaven head and strapping chest, yet, looking downward, he noticed something that made his breathing manic and uncontrolled. He blinked, his head pounding at the realization that the man's genitalia had been removed, replaced by a bloody and putrid slit that was swollen and enflamed.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ What the _fuck_ has he done?" Dennis asked loudly, frantically trying to pull from the rope, hoping it would snap. "Talk to me!"

"Cut up, changed," The man whispered, "Cut up, sliced, put back together, sliced, put back together. Cut up, changed, sewn back together. Bad man. Very bad. Below the belly, cut up, cut up, sewn."

_**Thump. Thump. Thump.**_

"Oh, shit. He's coming, isn't he? C'mon, please get me out of this. Please, I'm _begging_ you. _SHIT."_

Then, Dennis went limp, pretending to be asleep, trying his best to control his breathing pattern. He could hear him, coming closer, humming a song happily as he approached the room. He felt his stomach drop, his anxiety building almost beyond any control, he forced himself to stay quiet for just a little longer. He heard a door open loudly, the hinges creaked, and time seemed to stand till for a moment as he felt a strong artificial light hit his closed eyelids with an unwelcoming flash of white. The frightened patient beside him cried, muttering to himself even louder, scrabbling toward Dennis in a desperate attempt to seek comfort or either he felt too isolated by himself. It didn't matter to Dennis; he just needed a plan, something that would get him out of this situation. How could he have been so stupid? To just wander into an empty room like that and leave his back turned away from the wide open door?

_We're a good as dead! Like road kill! Out in the open, ready to be crushed._

_O-o-o-o-oh, God! I don't want to d-d-die!_

"Hm, such a delicate little thing. Okay, one, two, three—" With a grunt, Eddie lifted the restrained man from the floor, Dennis could hear the smile spread on his lips as Gluskin placed him onto the cushioned chair with ease. "There, that wasn't too bad, was it? I can be gentle. You're so light. My dear, you have such a pretty face, I can't wait for us to be together. You are _mine_. All mine. And you're going to be perfect soon, just be patient, and _enjoy_ the time we have together. I'll make you into who you're truly meant to be, I see _it _inside you, I know that once all this is over and complete you'll be the one I have been yearning for. I know you're eager, so am I, but be patient. Be good."

_Run. Run, Dennis. Just run. _He felt his right wrist being covered by a strap, tightly fastened till he was sure the blood flow had stopped, and then the action was repeated on his left. He couldn't move, he couldn't do _anything_, after seeing what he had Dennis began mentally kicking himself, knowing that he should have fought back once the door opened, to be a man. Nothing could be done now, he was fastened tightly into his seat, feeling it move as Gluskin pushed him out the room effortlessly.

_What was this guy talking about? Can't wait for us to be together? Does he really think I'm…I'm…_

"Please, endure this time of discomfort for my sake, do it for me."

The wheelchair came to a sudden halt. Something in the air made Dennis fight back the urge to cough, a disgusting smell of sweat, sex pheromones and the common smell of gore. It was overpowering, a foul reek that made Dennis's gag reflexes spasm and an acid tasting fluid overfill in his throat. His restraints were removed, giving his hands relief, and he was taken from the chair roughly and placed on what felt like a table. He felt a warm hand on his cheek, and almost flinched from the touch. Gluskin gently touched the supposedly asleep man's cheek affectionately, looking down upon his motionless body with pure want that made him quiver excitedly. "The incision _will _hurt, but it will be swift, and the cut will be clean. I _promise_. You're going to be a masterpiece. A vision of beauty and grace, but you know, as well as I, that a woman must sacrifice for her children and husband. Just think of us, endure the pain, and it will be all over soon, and we'll have a new start. I'll be here for you; I'm not going anywhere. Remember," Gluskin leaned forward slowly, purposely taking his time, his hot breath against Dennis's earlobe, "I'm doing _this_ for us."

_**WHACK!**_

His hand burned against the face he had just punched. His mouth felt numb, but he heard himself scream, then picking himself from the table and running. He was watching himself, like it wasn't even real, that everything had become a dark dream. Not only did the locker room consist of bloodstained walls, heavily rusted matter and floor, and the rancid smell of rotting flesh, but contained the sound of a scream. It was so quiet that Dennis firstly thought it came from the room next door, but soon realised it was another patent who had been tied to a nearby table, his chest torn open and two mounds of flesh had been stitched onto the muscle underneath. _What the fuck! _His feet imprinted blood onto the floor whilst he ran through the dinted and tarnish consumed room. He wanted to be sick. "Darling! Come back! Come back to me!" He heard a voice behind him, "Don't run away. You're confused, but let me help; I'll make you _better. _Let me _love_ you. How do you expect to start our family when you're behaving in this manner? Don't you want to be happy? To start a new life? I know that deep, deep down inside you you're different, not what you're meant to be. I can help you, if you let me."

_He's making them…into…_

"I'm _NOT_ a fucking woman!" Dennis shouted, his left foot landing onto a shard of glass that embedded itself deep inside his sole. He cried out, cursing, making his location obvious to the man. He heard him come from behind, and turned around to face him, his face reminding him one of a _monster_. Dennis growled, "Crazy bastard. _Look_. I'm not a woman, you sick fucker!"

"No," Gluskin had cornered him, watching as his love's foot bleed out, his frightened little rabbit wide-eyed and scared to death from his very presence. He grinned, he _loved _that, when they cowered away from him because they knew he would have their love, that he had the power, that he was the dominate one. He breathed heavily, a bead of sweat running down the side of his forehead, his square-jaw tight and teeth gritted. His mouth widened, "Not _yet_."

**X**

_2 hours later..._

Beaten and bruised, Dennis stood on the wooden stool, a rope around his neck, and if he made one little movement, it would be fatal. He was shivering now, fear had taken over his clear mind, and every hope of running away had been trampled out of him. "Ta-da~" Gluskin returned to the room, holding something delicately within his arms as he presented it Dennis with a proud and smug look upon his face. He raised an eyebrow, expecting a positive and grateful reaction to his work, "Well, what do you think?"

_A wedding dress…?_

"Put it on," He instructed with the raise of his hand, gesturing toward the handmade dress that looked threadbare and shapeless due to the lack of a proper model. At first, Dennis stared blankly at the garment, the embroidery, stitching, the small but well woven detailing the man had put into the hem and collar of the dress. It was a filthy white, dust-eaten and creased, and looked to have already been worn by someone before him due to the warmness and molecule spill of blood on the sleeve. "Your body is a temple, so beautiful and soft, you have the most _perfect_ figure. I _know _that this will look stunning on you. Beside, I need a model, someone, ah, _understanding_ to work with. To really appreciate ones work, you must really understand it, and you are ideal for this job. Yes, most ideal. Such a _temping_ structure and balance, your physique is indeed a work of art by itself, indeed, God knew what he was doing when he was craving you from stone."

_No. No. __NO_.

He couldn't move, or speak; he just gripped hold on the dress, crushing the fabric tightly within his shaking hand. "Put," Gluskin came closer, his intense gaze burned along with his threatening demand, "It _on._"


End file.
